


Call It Desperation

by SLUMPED



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: AU, Blow Jobs, Crossdressing, Doggy Style, France (Country), Hair-pulling, M/M, Maid, Rich Pete
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-21
Updated: 2017-06-21
Packaged: 2018-11-16 18:55:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11258904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SLUMPED/pseuds/SLUMPED
Summary: Peter Wentz III was head of Courvoisier, and that was all you really had to know. He had a big income, a big house and an even bigger ego. But those all came in well when he bought his maid what he needed.





	Call It Desperation

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thanksariel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thanksariel/gifts).



Paris, France, 1946.

It was Thursday, October 24th. It was a chilly evening, the day coming to an end. The time was 6:29pm. Pete gets home at exactly 6:32.

That gave Patrick just enough time to set and place food on the table. 

Peter Wentz III was head of Courvoisier and that was all you really had to know. He had a big income, a big house and an even bigger ego. But it came in well when he bought his maid what he needed.

He was alone, owning only the total of two dogs. His maid, Patrick, usually accompanied him though, and Pete wasn't quite opposed to it.

The younger male always brought a form of joy and sweetness even if he was only cleaning. He knew his place and was polite, very easy to put away. He followed orders like it was his former life. Obedient and small, he wore the attire of which a female would wear, but he had the frame for it. It accentuated his curves and made him look completely irresistible. It was black, tight around his torso but flared out as it got lower

The dress stopped completely at mid-thigh, barely showing the clip garters that held up sheer black thigh highs. It left a small strip of pale skin where they both connected. The whole dress up was also partnered by a small white apron that tied around his waist, matching the lace bonnet that's sat atop his strawberry blond hair. But Patrick knows what he's doing, and he's doing it well. Dropping something to pick it up, almost anything to grasp Pete's attention, but he gets it without even trying. Patrick's seen the way Pete looks at him and they're both so lonely-

Patrick just sees it as a win-win situation. 

Pete pulled up to his house, dogs barking behind the gate, the smell of autumn filled his senses, he was rather tense from a long day at work.

Pete almost owned the company, making money on top of money. He prefers not to be with anybody, keeping to himself. He was a dark and mysterious type of man, but coming down to the right people, he was down to earth and just completely charming.

For example, his maid, Patrick. Pete saw him as nice and soft, and would like to keep it that way. But he also had an eye out for him. He always looked good in more ways than one. Adorable, sweet and innocent. Pete loved it.

He never meant to stare, but when he did Patrick just smiled, quiet and polite as he could ever be. But Patrick always wore the dress, Pete didn't know why. But he let's him, always to get a glimpse of the black lace against his skin, especially when he bends over. 

Pete walked into the house, hearing a soft tune coming from the dining room, the house smelled of soft roses and possibly daisies.

Patrick was humming to himself as he set the plates and dishes on the table that was covered by a pristine white cloth. He popped open a bottle of red wine, Beaujolais and bent himself over the table to pour the liquid into the thin, tall glass. Not bothering to walk around the table.

“Aspect délicieux, Patrick.”  
(Looks delightful, Patrick.)

Patrick gasped, jumping and almost spilling the wine over the glass. He turned around quickly, his skirt flowed with him, Patrick having to pat it down out of modesty when he met eyes with his boss,  
“Monsieur!”  
(Sir!)

Pete kept eye contact and smirked with a little tut. 

Patrick smiled, a giggle leaving his mouth as he gripped the table behind himself,  
“Dieu, tu m'as fait peur!”  
(God, you frightened me!)

Pete raised his eyebrows, licking his lips. But he soon cleared his throat, breaking eye contact as he looked over at the table that Patrick was still gripping.  
“Quel est le dîner?”  
(What's for dinner?)

A look of realization washed over Patrick's face in waves,  
“Oh, oui! Coq au Vin, monsieur.”  
(Oh, yes! Coq au Vin, sir.)

Pete gave a lopsided grin, only with a nod.

Patrick smiled large, tugging the bottom if his skirt out of nervousness,  
“Alors je vais vous laisser à vous-même?”  
(Then I'll leave you to yourself?)

Pete looked the younger man up and down, starting at his feet that were clad in loafers and trailing up to stop at his mouth, a plump lip caught between his teeth.

Pete’s dark eyes linger there for quite some time before he looked up and met Patrick's.  
“Il n'y a pas besoin de ça.”  
(There is no need for that.)

Patrick flooded red from his cheeks to his ears, a furrow in his brow before a smile etched itself on his face,  
“Bien sur, monsieur.”  
(Of course, sir.)

Pete nodded, walking over to the other side of the table, pulling out the oak carved chair for his maid.  
“Merci, monsieur.”  
(Thank you, sir.)

The man made a noise in the back of his throat, pushing Patrick in before walking over to his own seat that was right across from him.

They began eating, Pete looking at the small, almost proper bites that his maid took. Patrick looked up, meeting eyes with the older man. Pete just smirked as Patrick blushed deeply once again, Pete took a sip of the wine before speaking,  
“C'est merveilleux, Patrick.”  
(This is wonderful, Patrick.)

Patrick smiled, meeting eyes, but didn't answer.

The younger man toed off his shoes under the table, keeping his head down but flickering his eyes up. His stocking clad foot slowly started to trail from Pete’s ankle to mid calf,  
“Monsieur…”  
(Sir…)

It caught Pete's attention, a fly to a light.

“Voulez-vous dormir avec moi ce soir?”  
(Do you want to sleep with me tonight?)

Patrick kept his eyes wide, a lip latched between his teeth. Pete looked at him confusingly,  
“Viens encore?”  
(Come again?)

Patrick smiled, giggling, looking up at him through lashes,  
“Aimerais-tu coucher avec moi?”  
(Would you like to sleep with me?)

Pete was choked off for a second,  
“Oui, bien sûr.”  
(Yes, of course.)

Patrick smiled, setting his fork down and reaching up to fix his bonnet,  
“Ensuite nous allons commencer maintenant?”  
(Then shall we start now?)

“Absolument.”  
(Absolutely.)

Pete stood up, walking over to the younger man, reaching out his hand for him to take. Patrick took it, getting up and following close behind as Pete quickly dragged him up the stairs and to his room.

It was a nice burgundy color, accented by gold and black. Patrick got pushed onto the bed by Pete, his dress rode up but he made no effort to pull down.

Pete let his hands wander to the milky skin of Patrick's thighs that always seemed to be covered by the material of his dress.

Patrick tried to sit up, to do something back to Pete, at least. But he only got pushed back down.

Patrick made a little ‘hmpf’ sound as his back hit the bed once again. Pete only chuckled as he pushed the skirt of the dress up more, revealing the soft lace of black panties that contrasted against his skin so well,  
“Regardez-vous, si petit.”  
(Look at you, so small.)

Patrick let out a hitched breath, already feeling his cock begin to strain against his panties. Pete let his hand trail over it slightly before cupping the younger man through his underwear, palming the boy and watching his face flush and contour with such pleasure.  
“Est-ce que tu le veux?”  
(Do you want it?)

Patrick gasped, bucking his hips up along with Pete’s hand,  
“Oui, je le veux.”  
(Yes, I want it.)

It made Pete chuckle, he unbuttoned the first few buttons on his shirt, rolling up his sleeves. He pushed his maid up more onto the bed, and kneeled in between his legs. He pulled Patrick's panties and stockings down his legs, leaning down to kiss both hip bones, sucking a red mark that would very soon bloom into purple on the pale skin.

Patrick let whimpers spill out of his mouth like a fountain. He kept his eyes open but lidded as he hazily watched the older man commit such dirty actions to him. He was stroking the boy, the other hand had fingers that dug deeply into the younger man's hip,  
“Vous le voulez, oui? Que voulez-vous, Patrick?”  
(You want it, yes? What do you want, Patrick?)

The maid moaned, hips moving rhythmically with Pete's hand,  
“Votre bite! S'il vous plait, Monsieur!”  
(Your cock! Please, sir!)

Pete licked over his teeth, biting the inside of his cheek,  
“Bon garçon.”  
(Good boy.)

Pete moved his hand the the maid’s mouth, slipping two fingers in between Patrick's plump lips. He groaned as he felt the younger man lick over the pads of his fingers with his soft tongue. The man felt and heard his maid moan around his fingers.

Pete pulled his fingers from the younger man's mouth, and as soon as he did, Patrick spoke up,  
“S'il te plait donne moi…”  
(Please give me…)  
But he could barely finish his sentence.

Pete pulled Patrick closer, hooking one of his maid’s legs over his shoulder. He trailed his fingers to the younger man's hole, listening to the gasp that he let out.

He pushed the two into Patrick, crooking them to pleasure the maid. He went back to stroking the man as he pushed his fingers in him.  
“Oh, mon, Monsieur.”  
(Oh my, sir.)

Patrick let out small, breathy moans. Moving his hips with Pete's fingers, he gripped the sheets,  
“Monsieur, utilisez-moi.”  
(Sir, use me.)

Patrick met eyes with Pete, they were dark, but still the light blue that they've been, they were glazed over and screamed with pleasure,  
“Je sais que vous avez été stressé.”  
(I know you've been stressed.)

Pete groaned, leaning down to nuzzle his face into Patrick's neck, sucking on the sensitive skin and leaving marks. Pete took in the younger man's scent. Of vanilla and oranges he smelled. 

Pete finally started to undo his shirt, popping the buttons slowly, as to tease his maid. He slipped the material off of his shoulders, it landing on the vacuumed carpet. As for his slacks, he undid his belt, sliding it out of his belt loops before moving onto the button and zipper.

But before he undid those, Pete stroked the outline of his cock through his pants, putting on a quick show for his maid. He then grabbed Patrick's dainty hand, placing it on the same place. It made Patrick sit up a little, he gasped, feeling Pete through his slacks. 

Pete grunted again, but he didn't say anything. He got up and stood at the side of the bed, Patrick watched intently from his place, biting his lip as Pete tugged down his pants, he was hard through his underwear and the maid couldn't take his eyes off of it.

Panting and whimpering, Patrick waited for Pete to come fuck him, watching as the older man pulled his underwear off. Pete watched the younger man grip his skirt before getting on his hands and knees, crawling across the large bed to where Pete was. Patrick stayed on his hands and knees, looking at Pete with large eyes,  
“Avez-vous besoin de mon aide avec ça?”  
(Do you need my help with this?) 

The maid gestured to Pete’s cock, not waiting for an answer when he reached a nimble hand up to grip it.

Patrick stroked the man, gratification filling him to the brim when he heard the sharp breath Pete took.

Patrick leaned forward to lick over the tip, slowly starting to suck on it, his other hand steadying to hold himself up. He listened to the older man grunt and growl above him. Pete's hand tangled through Patrick's light hair, the maid’s bonnet being knocked off of his head in the midst of it, the other one moving Patrick's hand so the blond could steady himself.

Now Patrick had only his mouth on Pete, both of the older man’s hands in his hair, tugging and pulling back and forth, guiding the maid on his cock.

Patrick's ocean eyes glimmer in the soft lighting of the room, watering from the pressure in his mouth. Pete looked down, meeting eyes with the maid, looking over the rest of his body, the skirt of his dress was flipped over his back, his pale, plump ass on show for the older man.

Pete pulled the younger man off of him. Patrick gasped once he pulled off, cheeks red and a thin string of spit connecting his bottom lip with Pete's cock. Patrick giggled, a few stray tears running down flushed cheeks. 

“Bon.”  
(Good.)

Patrick smiled wider, watching as Pete walked around the bed to where he was behind him. Patrick was awaiting for anything, but he didn't feel anything coming. 

He felt Pete staring, staring at how open he was, at how pale, small, and good he looked. 

The bed then dipped, weight other than Patrick settling upon it. 

Then Patrick felt it. Big hands skimming across his body, playing with his thick thighs and tugging his hair, he backed the maid up a little bit and pushed on his upper back so that only his ass was up.

Patrick held his breath once he felt the tip of Pete's cock rub against him. The older man pushed into his maid.  
“Oh, Monsieur-”  
(Oh, mister-)

Pete grunted, close to doubling over the maid as he started to bottom out. Patrick moaned high, the feeling of Pete's hands gripping his hip right after.  
Pete started with slow, deep thrusts. He took in the way Patrick felt around him. 

The scent of fresh linen filled Patrick's senses as he pushed his face into the bed to keep himself from being too loud, but it was hard when the older man sped up, he almost couldn't control it. Patrick lifted his face from the bed, only to let out gasps and moans at every time Pete fucked into him.

Pete moved his hands from Patrick’s pale, bruising hips to the wrinkled dress that was pushed up to his back. He gripped the material, pulling his maid onto him every time he thrusts.  
“Quel est mon nom, Patrick?”  
(What's my name, Patrick?)

Patrick gasped, gripping the bed sheets harder, eyes screwing shut as Pete used him, his cock ached and begged for attention when he spoke, stuttering words bouncing from his throat with every thrust,  
“Ah! M-Monsieur Wentz.”  
(Mister Wentz.)

Pete chuckled, moving his right hand from the dress to grip Patrick's hair, pulling back to make the younger man's back arch greatly and once Pete asked him another question, the maid was afraid that he wouldn't be able to answer.

“À qui appartenez-vous?”  
(To whom do you belong?)

The grip in the fragile man's hair tipped harder, Pete taunted him with his left hand teasing the tip of his cock, repeating himself,  
“À qui appartenez-vous, Patrick?”  
(To whom do you belong, Patrick?)

Patrick almost had tears running down his cheeks when Pete picked up his pace, it was all too good for him, there were many different sensations that were being weighed upon him. He got choked up on his words but he managed to get words out,  
“Vous monsieur! Je t'appartiens!  
(You sir! I belong to you!)

Pete leaned down, blanketing himself over Patrick's back, sucking and biting at the bonding sight of his neck and shoulder.  
“Un tel jouet, oui?”  
(Such a toy, yes?)

The maid nodded, the action being hard due to the fist in his hair.  
“Pour vous, monsieur,”  
(For you, sir)

Pete chuckled, letting go of the younger man's hair, it going back to its place, gripping the little black dress that was almost soaked to Patrick's skin. The maid had a troubled time getting out words, consonants dropped out of his mouth along with a few stray words, they were quiet as Pete fucked him into the mattress.  
“Oui, oui, oui-”  
(Yes, yes, yes-)

Pete sped up, the bed creaking and Patrick's moans getting more consistent, yelling,  
“Oui! juste là, Monsieur!”  
(Yes! Right there, sir!)

Pete hit that spot, over and over again, stroking his maid while he thrusts. Patrick couldn't help but to feel the knot that was forming trying to collapse.

Pete felt the same, trying to chase his finish inside of the younger man, he gripped the dress in a tight fist, knuckles turning white. The other hand stroking his maid quickly.

Patrick dropped to his elbows, head bowed down, almost drooling on himself,  
“Monsieur, puis-je ... s'il vous plaît?”  
(Sir, may I...please?)

Pete grunted, pushing into the boy unevenly, dropping his head down and squeezing his dark eyes shut,  
“tu peux.”  
(You may.)

Patrick gasped, his mouth hanging open as he screamed out in pleasure, cumming white over Pete's fist.  
“Oui! Merci, Monsieur!”  
(Yes! Thank you, sir!)

Pete kept thrusting reaching his own, Patrick falling sensitive under him, eyes rolling back as his nails threatened to grip anything. Pete grunted, finally letting go inside of the younger man, growling when he pulled out, watching as Patrick's thighs began to almost shine because of the cum that dripped down them.

Pete left a quick smack over Patrick's pale bottom, leaving it a light pink. He rolled the younger man over, taking a look at him. He was still shuddering, quick jerks of his body moved in pleasure, he hasn't come down yet.

His face was pink, tears down his cheeks, but his eyes closed. Plump bottom lip, shiny and wet and red, holding bite marks. The marks that he had left before are now a nice purple, contrasting against his pale complexion, his hair was disheveled and he was taking heavy breaths. 

Pete waited, going over to his dresser and grabbing a new pair of underwear while he did. 

When he turned around Patrick was sitting up, his lace bonnet back, but crooked, atop of his head, Pete gave a genuine smiled toward the maid, and Patrick gave it back. Pete walked over to the younger man, pulling him toward himself and connecting their lips in a kiss.

Once they pulled away, Pete picked up Patrick's stockings and panties that he had thrown down earlier, handing them to the younger man,  
“Allez vous nettoyer vous-même.”  
(Go clean yourself up.)

Patrick smiled and nodded politely, getting up and leaving the room:  
“Avoir un bonne soirée, Monsieur.”  
(Have a good evening, Sir.)

**Author's Note:**

> S/O to my mans ariel for this idea


End file.
